“Of course it’s happening in your head; why should that make it less real?”

Harry Potter & the Deathly Hallows II: directed by David Yates; written by Steve Kloves
          
I imagine that writing a review of the latest Harry Potter is in the technical sense akin to intellectual masturbation – I’m probably the only one getting any gratification from it. This is probably why reviewing it is wrought with so much difficulty, approaching it without taking note of its zeitgeist aspects is impractical. I’d wager that any critic – pseudo or otherwise – went into the film suspecting what they were going to think of it, what grade they’d give it. After seven films there isn’t much that can drastically change about the series, the things that you loved have endured into the aspects you look for and the things that annoy you’ve learned to contend with – and ignore, if possible.

The marked difference between this instalment and its previous encounters is the time it covers. Save for a few minutes of what functions as a prologue, and a scene of memories the film covers a few hours which makes the film seem as if it’s hurtling towards its close and it turns into more of an exercise in all things visuals than anything significant story wise. Essentially, a final two Horcruxes must be found which requires breaking into the Gringotts vault and then Hogwarts. With the particulars of the story stripped to the bare essentials the visuals aspects become principal – a sort of the medium becoming the message sort of occurrence; and it looks fabulous. It’s a battle for the ages and the film looks better than any of the previous instalments.

I always wished that the Harry Potter films had stuck to a single director over the tenure of the entire series. This sort of fantastical fare is the type that places greater emphasis on style than substance and if one were to talk into account the hours devoted to these characters prior to this one, the film surprisingly lacks that emotional profundity that you’d hope for in a final instalment. It’s probably unfair to expect Yates to manage that when previous directors have brought their own flair to project, and it’s doubly unfair because this instalment is a film in itself and not just a glorified epilogue – which, in my defence, it seemed to be at times.

It’s where I have to divide my de facto appreciation from the series from the actual worth of the entry. I’m conscious that it’s not a wholly brilliant endeavour, even though in my mind it’s as good as I could hope for. I devoured, yes devoured, those novels from the moment they came out and I’ve been following the films since they came out so in my mind the situation is probably a whole lot more majestic than it would be for a non-believer. I can point out the shortcomings like an abysmal use of every single supporting character, but I can just as easily make experiences for them because more than any other of the films this is Radcliffe’s show. It seems like such a facetious thing to criticise Radcliffe's acting, especially now when he seems to be the indelible Potter. Acting wise, I'll always say he was at his strongest in Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince. It's the single installment which depended expressly on the work put in by the child-cast, but here Dumbledore's Harry's is relegated to random moments, some which work more than others. The opening at Shell Cottage isn't as searing as you'd hope, but bigger things like Harry's final walk to Voldermort manage to come off splendidly. There's a moment where Ron and Harry's eyes interlock and you can grasp the importance of the moment. You really can't can't force that sort of rapport, even if Yates places little emphasis on it overall.

Still, I just as easily don’t place as much credit in the things that the film does right like the Pensive, for example because I expect no less. In the same way that I expect nothing less than great Britons to turn up and give great performances from the sidelines in the form of Maggie Smih, HBC and Kelly MacDonald (who is shockingly effective in only a few moments). It’s one of those damning effects of being inextricably linked to a film and its source. So, when that camera panned out and we got that shot of the trio looking out from the ruined castles it wasn’t so much a sigh heaved after a thrill, but a quiet contentment. And sure, in my head I pretended that those last four minutes didn’t happen, because that’s how I wanted to remember it. It was, after all, my party.
      
B/B-